


Room 101

by JinxQuickfoot



Series: Whumptoberverse [11]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Civil War Fix-It, Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship, Clint Barton Feels, Day 11, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Whump, Whumptober 2020, medical emergencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27147191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxQuickfoot/pseuds/JinxQuickfoot
Summary: The second he jogged around the corner, Tony wished he had sprinted instead.Clint was strapped to a hospital bed, being attended to by a frustrated doctor and frantic nurse, two huge security guards looking on. His eyes were rolling around the room, desperately looking for an out as he tugged on the leather cuffs binding him to the bedrails, more straps over his chest and legs pinning him in a half-upright position----------------------------------------------------------------------------Clint hates doctors. Tony's the only one who can help.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark
Series: Whumptoberverse [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921831
Comments: 76
Kudos: 204
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MillyVeil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillyVeil/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Falling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25788223) by [MillyVeil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillyVeil/pseuds/MillyVeil). 
  * Inspired by [Replay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25307776) by [MillyVeil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillyVeil/pseuds/MillyVeil). 



> Whumptober 2020 Day 11
> 
> Prompts: Defiance/Struggling/Crying
> 
> Relationship: Tony & Clint
> 
> Can be read as a one-shot, but exists in the same timeline as the other series in the Whumptoberverse.
> 
> For the wonderful and incomparable MillyVeil.

Tony never thought he would be happy to see aliens rain from the sky.

As it was, they came as a godsend - maybe literally. Tony no longer underestimated what was out there.

They were nasty creatures, resembling giant pillbugs with razor-sharp pincers. They were the length of small cars, sporting outer shells as tough asplate armor; savage, brainless beings out for destruction of the most primal kind.

Tony could work with primal. It was easier than dealing with enhanced terrorists or devastated teenagers any day. 

The aliens hadn’t been easy monsters to kill, but after Natasha had discovered that they had soft, vulnerable underbellies, the Avengers had taken them out in droves. Meanwhile, the media got all sorts of footage of the heroes defending the city, on a United Nations-sanctioned mission, with minimal casualties.

It was the miracle the Avengers’ PR team had been looking for. It was almost _too_ good, and Tony couldn’t wait to read the conspiracy theories blaming him of orchestrating the whole event. Hell,their long-suffering PR team was so stoked, he wished he _had_ thought of it. 

After a long and grueling fight, the creatures were dealt with and were either being destroyed or hauled back to New S.H.I.E.L.D.’s lab to be studied. Tony and Steve had both given their pre-written statements about the importance of unity and teamwork to the press, had gotten the team back to the Compound, and now Tony was going to bed.

Long gone were the days when he would have stayed awake at least another twenty-four hours, running on pure adrenaline. Depending on how those early team missions had gone, Tony would celebrate into the early hours of the morning with the team, or withdraw into his workshop and start building, because he could always do better. The team could always be safer. 

These days, whenever a mission ended, he was just tired.

_“Boss? Your assistance is required in the med bay.”_

Tony hesitated in the entryway to his private rooms, a few steps away from a hot meal, a shower and sleep. “Is there a reason you’re asking anyone who isn’t yours truly?”

_“It’s Agent Barton, Boss. It appears he is giving the medical staff some resistance.”_

“Yeah, that tracks.” Tony had never picked apart enough of Clint’s past to trace back the exact origins of his resistance to doctors. He suspected it wasn’t one trigger but many, with zero warning of which ones would come out to play on the rare occasions Clint was forced to stay in medical care longer than ten minutes.

Tony had tried his best to accommodate first in the medical floor of the Tower, then in the Compound's med bay, making the space feel more like stylish apartments than hospital rooms. Clint still refused nine times out of ten, although over time he had relaxed around the team enough to let Bruce treat him when he could, despite the physicist’s griping that he really wasn’t that kind of doctor, and _could they please stop asking him to act like one?_

Bruce treated them all anyway.

It took a lot for the team to band together to convince Clint to actually get medical treatment - the headache of apologizing to any staff that had to deal with a sick or injured Barton was usually enough for Tony to give in and drag Clint to Bruce instead, or just deal with it himself, with J.A.R.V.I.S.’s assistance.

“Where, Fri?” Tony asked as he headed for the medical bay, still dressed in the dry-fit clothes from the battle, bemoaning the lost shower. The alien-things had easy to kill once they had figured out how, but there was no getting around the explosion of blood, guts, and what seemed to be sulfuric-smelling pus whenever their underbellies were stabbed or shot. Tony was luckier than most as nearly all of the visceral debris had ended up on the suit, but he could still smell it on himself.

_“Agent Barton is in Room 101, Boss.”_

“And is there a reason you’re not dragging Nat down here instead?”

_“Agent Romanoff is receiving medical treatment for an abdominal injury. She is indisposed but in no immediate danger.”_

The second he jogged around the corner, Tony wished he had sprinted instead.

Clint was strapped to a hospital bed, being attended to by a frustrated doctor and frantic nurse, two huge security guards looking on. His eyes were rolling around the room, desperately looking for an out as he tugged on the leather cuffs binding him to the bedrails, more straps over his chest and legs pinning him in a half-upright position.

His shirt and most of his trousers had been cut away, revealing several long, deep gashes up his leg, side, and chest, the deepest one slicing from shoulder to cheekbone. They didn’t seem to be bleeding, courtesy of an experimental field drug from Bruce, but they looked deep and painful, and Clint’s thrashing escape attempts weren’t helping.

Tony swore as he dashed into the room, drawing a panicked look from the nurse and a cold one from the doctor. He didn’t recognize either of them, but that wasn’t unusual. With the exception of Helen Cho, he’d had to get all new medical staff, vetted and approved by the Accords committee.

“You can’t be in here,” the doctor shot at him as the nurse prepared a wicked-looking needle. Clint cursed and struggled, not lying still enough for her to insert it despite the restraints. “Help me,” the doctor ordered the two security guards, who moved in to hold Clint’s arm immobile.

“Stop. That’s not going to help,” Tony said, taking another step into the room. Clint seemed to latch onto his voice because his head lolled sideways for a second, taking in Tony with wide eyes before realizing that he had let his guard down enough for the nurse to almost get the needle in him. He snarled at her, straining at the straps holding him to the bed, only to fall back with a pained cry a second later, biting into his lip so hard that it bled. 

Ignoring the four other people in the room, Tony dragged a chair across the floor and dropped into it next to Clint’s less injured side. He’d seen Clint like this before, more times than he cared to count. Doctors were bad enough, but Clint adamantly refused any painkillers stronger than paracetamol if he got into his head that someone was going to mess with him while he was incapacitated. Tony had gotten a glimpse of that origin story once when an infected wound had had Clint babbling about Carson Carnival and swordsmen and someone named Duquesne, but he had never gotten all the details. He had never asked, and Clint had never offered.

It was usually Natasha who took on the battle of getting Clint through an episode, and for a long time she was the only one he trusted to be around him when he was like this. But as the months had rolled on and the six heroes had gone from teammates to friends to something even closer, Tony had found he was second-in-line for that role.

Tony would have put himself dead last on the list of anyone someone would want as a caretaker, but over time he saw the logic of it. While the other Avengers definitely had a better bedside manner than he ever would, in this state Clint couldn’t stand to have men that were stronger than him in the same room, which ruled out Steve or Thor. Bruce was also excluded as Clint had a tendency to lash out, physically and verbally, when he felt cornered, and the risks of inciting a Hulk out were too high. 

Which left Tony. The first time had been hell, a frustrated and worried Natasha coaching him via phone from an undisclosed location. No raised voices, no sudden movements, no heavy drugs unless necessary. And absolutely no restraints, _ever._

Tony was already reaching for the cuff around Clint’s right wrist, but the doctor batted his hands away. “You can’t take those off.”

The words elected a distressed moan from the archer, who gave them another fruitless tug. “It’s ok,” Tony said, fighting to keep his voice calm. “I know what I’m doing, Doctor…”

“Doctor Dhawan. And I’d like to remind you, Mr Stark, who the medical professionals in this room are.”

“And I’d like to remind you who pays your salary.”

Dhawan stared him down, not relenting. The nurse fumbled the needle as Clint bared his teeth at her, all caged wild animal. “They’re for his safety. And ours.”

“And the Men in Black over there? Did you even read Barton’s file?”

Dhawan didn’t drop her gaze. “I am entitled to feel safe in my workplace.”

There was a yelp as the nurse stumbled backward several steps, dropping the needle, and it took a moment for Tony to realize that Clint had made good on his threat and tried to bite her.

“My case in point,” Dhawan said.

Tony forced himself to take a breath. Clint needed calm, and he clearly wasn’t going to get it from anyone else in the room. “May I point out that your patients also have a right to feel safe in your care?” He snapped his fingers at the two security guards. “Both of you. Out.”

“Stay,” Dhawan ordered them in return. “You’re needed here.”

“They are the very opposite of ‘needed here’,” Tony retorted. “Whoever is wearing a security badge in this room in the next sixty seconds is going to find themselves at Happy Hogan's mercy." 

The guards didn’t need telling twice, scurrying from the room with their tails between their legs. Ok, one problem down, a dozen or so more to go, and Tony had no idea what they were going to be. Clint had a tendency to be unpredictable even when he was all there, and from the way his eyes were still darting around the room, Tony could tell that this was going to be a hard fight.

Dhawan rounded on Tony. “Stark. I took an oath to heal and do no harm to any patient under my care, whoever they might be. I don’t have a problem with you or anyone on your side. You can trust me.”

Tony opened his mouth to try and detangle any part of that, but the nurse was trying to approach with a new needle, and he had much more pressing matters on his hands right now.

“You can’t have any security guards in here,” Tony stated. “That’s a non-starter. But I’ll stay - he trusts me.” _Or at least he used to_.

_You gotta watch your back with this guy. There’s a chance he’s going to break it._

“And I’m telling you that _you_ can’t be in here,” Dhawan shot back. “You’re not trained, you’re in my way, and you’re filthy. My patient has open wounds and you haven’t even washed your hands. So leave.”

“Ok,” Tony relented, putting both hands up as he looked down at himself. “Fair point. Give me a second.” He stood, registering Dhawan’s triumphant look before it turned to confusion as, instead of heading for the door, Tony made for the sink in the corner, stripping his t-shirt and trousers on the way there, not bothering with decency. He washed his hands, arms and face as best as could before tugging on a spare set of scrubs.  


He was only just dressed when he heard a new string of curses from the hospital bed and turned just in time to see Dhawan insert a thick mouthguard between a resisting Clint’s teeth.

The resulting howl that split the hospital room had Tony dashing back to Clint’s bedside, finding his way blocked by a fuming doctor. “ _Leave_ , Stark. We know what we’re doing.”

For a second, Tony considered if that actually was the best option. It wasn’t as though he and Clint were on the same terms as they once were. They had barely spoken outside of missions since the Accords, their usual banter and dark humor lost, maybe forever. For all he knew, he was contributing to Clint’s panicked state by being here, by putting another person Clint didn’t trust near him when he was vulnerable.

Then Clint’s head twisted to one side, giving another cry as he pulled at the straps and tried to spit out the mouthguard, only to find that he was well and truly trapped. His eyes locked onto Tony’s, and the helpless desperation there was enough for any thoughts of leaving to evaporate.

“Move,” Tony ordered Dhawan, not waiting for her to comply as he stepped around her and went back to Clint’s side as a shadow filled the doorway of the hospital room.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Tony’s head snapped up, his whole body going rigid with the urge to _run run run._ The figure in the doorway must have registered Tony’s presence at the same time, because he paused on his way into the room, suddenly uncertain.

Tony hadn’t seen Barnes since Siberia. The former soldier had kept his word of staying to his own quarters, allowing Tony free reign of the rest of the Compound without fearing that he’d run into him. It had made it easier to compartmentalize the idea of sharing a building with the man. He could almost pretend he wasn’t even there. Almost.

But now Barnes _was_ here, blocking the only exit from the room, and suddenly Tony was back kneeling on the freezing stone ground, chained and muzzled with Barnes holding his and Peter’s lives in his hand with that terrifying, blank expression.

Then Clint gave another distressed moan, and Tony was in the present again. They only had room for one freak-out at a time right now, and Clint had dibs.

“You can’t be here,” Tony told Barnes, ignoring Dhawan’s disbelieving snort from behind him as he mirrored the words he had just ignored.

Barnes took another step into the room instead. His were eyes wide and calculating as he stared down at Clint, bound and gagged and surrounded by medical equipment, and Tony realized that he almost certainly wasn’t the only one in the room having a very unwanted flashback right now.

“I’m going to help him,” Tony assured Barnes, straining to make his voice level. “But you can’t be here for me to do that. He doesn’t react well to having men that are stronger than him around when he’s like this. Ok?”

Barnes seemed torn, but eventually nodded, taking two steps back. “Tell me when he’s ok?”

The words hit closer to home than Tony had expected. When had Barnes and Clint become so close? “F.R.I.D.A.Y. will alert you.”

Barnes glanced from Tony, to Clint, to the doctor and nurse. “I’m in the room down the hall,” he said finally. “And I can hear everything that goes on in here. _Everything._ ” And with those chilling words, he vanished. 

“Stark.” Dhawan was back in his face, arms folded, looking livid. “Let us do the jobs you hired us to do.”

“Technically the Accords Committee hired you.” Tony’s hands were hovering an inch above one of Clint’s pinned arms, wanting to touch but not knowing if it was going to make things better worse. “Your job is to provide care to your patients.” He gestured to Clint. “Does this look like care to you?”

“Are there cameras in here?”

Tony raised an eyebrow at her. “Why is that relevant?”

“Are there?”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. is recording, yes.” He was only half-listening, attention mostly on Clint.

“Good. Then let it be known that Mr Stark is here against my professional recommendation, and interfering in my patient’s care against my will. I will not accept fault for anything that happens to Agent Barton from here on out, do you understand?”

“Fully. Now get out of my way, and keep whatever you have in that needle away from him.” She finally backed off, allowing Tony to turn his full attention to his injured teammate, trying hard not to get distracted by the weeping wounds slashed into Clint’s side. “Hey. Legolas. Look at me.” 

When Clint didn’t, Tony risked taking Clint’s hand, ready to pull it away at the first sign of resistance. Instead, Clint’s fingers curled limply around his, which Tony took as progress. “Look at me,” Tony repeated, trying to emulate Natasha’s calm but authoritative tone. It worked, as Clint shifted his head to one side, and Tony swallowed when he saw the tears forming there.

“Dammit, Barton," Tony whispered. Then he cleared his throat, sensing Clint slipping away again.

Clint had two modes when he got like this; violent and defiant, or terrified and pleading. Which one he was likely to fall into was a roll of the dice, but the attitudes of those around him definitely contributed to which side of the spectrum he landed on. Tony took a breath, reminding himself to stay in control, calm and confident and all the things he certainly wasn’t feeling right now. “Why don’t I get that thing out your mouth? Yeah?”

Clint nodded so desperately that it took all of Tony’s self-control not to rip it from his teeth, but he knew they had put it in for a reason, and he had to make sure said reason had passed. “You’re not going to bite me if I touch your jaw?”

Clint shook his head, letting out a pitiful moan that had Tony hesitating even further. Yes, Clint did get like this, but he was also good at _faking_ being like this; something he had tried multiple times whenever it was Tony sent for him rather than Natasha. “Because if you bite me I can’t build you any more toys, you know that right? Which would be a shame, because I've been working up something in nanotech that you're going to drool all over.”

Clint’s answer was to stare up at him with such earnestness that Tony was almost convinced that he wasn’t faking after all. Almost. He decided to risk it anyway.

”Alright,” Tony breathed. “Here goes.” He leaned forward in the chair, careful to keep as much of himself in Clint’s eyeline as possible, and placed his hands around the mouthguard. “Relax your jaw,” he instructed. It took Clint a moment, body rigid with tension. “Come on,” Tony urged him. “Deep breath. Relax. Then it’s out.”

It was more of several hitches in Clint’s throat than a proper breath, but it had the desired effect of unlocking his jaw enough to pull out the mouthguard. The nurse stepped forward, tentative, to take it, but Tony glared at her and threw it away instead, not bothering to see where it landed. The action earned him a shaky laugh from Clint, a grin that turned into a grimace as he gave another futile pull at the cuffs. “Hands.”

“Yeah, I’m here, I’m here, I’m going to free your hands.”

Tony started with the straps locked down over Clint’s body, fixing the nurse with a look as he worked. “What were you going to give him?”

“Precedex,” the nurse offered. “It’s what it said in his file -”

“If you read his file you’d know that he’s not to be given any drugs without his or a medical proxy’s consent,” Tony shot back.

“An instruction I chose to ignore given the patient’s urgent condition,” Dhawan stepped in. “I refuse to operate on injuries of this extent without medication.”

Clint tugged the cuffs again as Tony untied his feet. _“Hands.”_

“I’m getting to them,” Tony soothed him, eyes still on Dhawan. “And the bit about no restraints? You just threw that out the window too?”

“It was my medical opinion -”

“You lashed a patient with a history of captivity and abuse to the bed and then tried to sedate him without his consent,” Tony snapped at her. He still had nightmares sometimes about the things he had read in Natasha and Clint’s files; the enemy camps they had both inevitably stumbled into. The things done to them there. “And to answer your earlier question - yes, F.R.I.D.A.Y. records _everything.”_

With the rest of Clint free, Tony went to unbuckle both his wrists, pausing just before he did so. “You know I can see inside you right now, Barton. So no running away after they’re off.”

Clint nodded frantically in agreement. Tony worked the first buckle free, revealing Clint’s wrist. “Doctor? Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me - _out!”_ The last word was a shout that made Clint flinch, curling into himself with a whimper. “Right, quiet, got it,” Tony murmured, hastening to free his other wrist. The cuffs were designed to restrain patients without harming them, but they had been wrapped around Clint’s wrists so tightly that the skin was red and pinched, bruises already starting to form. Clint sighed in relief when they were both free. Tony reached out, meaning to start up the blood flood to Clint’s hands again, but the archer batted him away.

“Ok, no touching, I hear you.” Tony looked up at where Dhawan was still standing. “What part of ‘get out’ wasn’t clear to you?”

She crossed her arms. “There is a patient under my care in need of urgent medical assistance that you are getting in the way of, Stark. I cannot leave until I’m sure he no longer requires my attention.”

“I think he’s had all the attention he needs from you.” That said, Clint’s wounds were stillopen and they had to be closed sooner rather than later. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Get someone competent in here, would you?”

_“Dr Hara is on their way. ETA ten minutes, Boss.”_

“Tell them to make it five. Clint? We’re getting you someone else, ok?”

“No,” Clint groaned, the sound muffled by the arm over his face. “Leave me alone.”

“You look like you had a run-in with Freddy Kruger. We need to do something about that.”

Dhawan wasn’t done. “I want video footage of all of this.”

“Have it. You really think you’re going to look like the good guy in this little snuff film you were making?”

“I think the Accords Committee who appointed me will take my side of things, yes. I was prepared to give care to a dangerous patient -”

“He wouldn’t have been dangerous if you had followed the instructions in his file!”

“- and I took the necessary precautions to guarantee both myself and my co-workers’ safety.”

“Good argument,” Tony retorted. “Bet my lawyers can think of a better one.”

“The same lawyers that helped you pass Amendments to the Accords that you signed? Those same Accords which dictated that I was a suitable employee for the Avengers Compound medical staff?”

“Can everything stop being about the Accords for five goddamn minutes?” The words brought him back to his teammate currently injured and curled up on a hospital bed. Shakes were racking his body, and it looked like Bruce’s field drug was starting to wear off, because Clint’s wounds were starting to ooze blood.

Tony swung his attention off Dhawan, hesitating, knowing these next words was pushing it, but Clint had to be in agony from the cuts and adrenaline could only carry him so far. “When the new doctor gets here, they can give you something to help with the pain, ok?”

Tony had never seen anyone move as fast as Clint did then, snapping from cowering in one instant to bolting for the door in the next. Tony was on the floor before he registered what had happened, pain exploding over one eye. He had a split second to be glad that his teammate had at least missed his nose before he was staggering to his feet, calling after the fleeing archer. “Barton, dammit, get back here!”

He needn’t have bothered. The surge of flight-or-fight instinct that had carried Clint off the bed seemed to have only have gotten him as far as the door, because he was now on one knee, panting, gazing desperately at the escape route just a few feet from him.

“Clint!” Tony staggered to his friend’s side, crouching down. All his instincts were telling him to get between Clint and the door, to activate his nanotech gauntlet, currently in watch form around his wrist, and drag Clint back to the bed and hold him there. But there was a reason Clint trusted - or _had_ trusted - Tony with this over Steve.

They had gotten to the point in the past where Steve had had no choice but to hold Clint down while drugs were administered, and every time it took Clint days to forgive him, even though in the long run he always did. Whether they were at that point or not was moot, because while Steve matched Clint for speed and far outmatched him for strength, Tony didn’t. He could only get what he needed from Clint through cooperation, which Clint never made easy.

So he gritted his teeth, kept his hands off his watch, and hovered in Clint’s side view, neither blocking his path to the door nor sneaking up behind him.

“Hey,” Tony tried, earning him a snarl. “Yeah, love you too. Stop being an idiot and come back to bed so we can fix you before you really start bleeding.”

Clint didn’t move, still panting, eyeing the door.

“Come on,” Tony attempted to reason with him. “Just come back to the bed. No drugs, ok?”

A fraction of tension went out of Clint’s shoulders. “No drugs?”

“Not unless you say it’s ok.” Tony took a tentative step forward and, when Clint didn’t bolt further, risked putting a hand on his shoulder. Clint flinched, but didn’t move away. “Come on. Back to bed.”

It was time for the moment of truth. As slowly as he dared, Tony wrapped an arm under Clint’s shoulders and helped him to his feet, trying not to panic when he felt how much Clint slumped against him. Getting back to the bed wasn’t exactly a cakewalk, but by the time Tony had got Clint settled again, a Japanese doctor was entering the room, a little out of breath, as though they had run here. They took in the scene with one sweeping look over half-rim glasses that reminded Tony of Bruce before they said, “Right. Let’s get to work, shall we?”

Tony fixed Dhawan with a glower which she took in stride as she marched out of the room, barely acknowledging Hara except with a “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

Tony eyed the terrified nurse, wondering who had ever employed her in the first place.“You can get out too and don’t come back - see whoever you need to at HR about that.” She didn’t need telling twice, hurrying from the room, head bowed.

“I’ll need a nurse,” Hara said as they came around to Clint’s side. “I can’t treat him without assistance.”

“You have me,” Tony offered.

Hara’s expression didn’t change. “Mr Stark, you are many things, but a medically trained professional isn’t one of them.”

Tony relented. “Fine. Who do you trust?”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Hara called. “I know Fahd is on break but can you tell him I need him and that it’s an emergency, please? He’ll understand.” 

After a beat F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirmed, _“Mr Nazari is on his way, Dr Hara.”_

“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.” They turned to Clint. “Agent Barton? My name is Dr Hara, but you can call me Ami. Mr Stark -”

“It’s Tony,” Tony corrected them.

“Tony. Can you please assist me while I review Agent Barton’s file by removing the restraints from the bed? We won’t be needing those.”

Tony made a mental note to give the doctor a raise as he busied himself with removing the leather straps and cuffs entirelyfrom the bed. Clint had curled himself back into a ball on his side, hands defensively over his head. He flinched when he first heard the snap of the restraints, but relaxed when he peaked out to see what exactly Tony was doing. Tony shoved the straps and cuffs under the bed, out of Clint’s eyesight, then perched back in the chair as a nurse entered the room. Like Hara, he approached Clint first, smiling and introducing himself. “Agent Barton? I’m Fahd. I’m going to be your nurse today - is that ok?”

Clint gave a jerky nod. As Hara and Fahd went into discussions about how to proceed, Tony slid closer to Clint’s side. “Hey. You in there?”

“Tony.”

“Yeah, Tony.” Tony’s eyes drifted to the bruises around Clint’s wrists. They would only be worse tomorrow. He didn’t want to think how long Dhawan would have limited Clint’s circulation if Tony hadn’t stepped in; what damage that might have done to the archer’s hands.

“Tony,” Clint said again, the word holding no inflection.

“Yeah,” Tony frowned. “Still Tony.”

Hara approached with a warm smile, drawing over a stool so they were sitting next to as Clint as opposed to leaning over him, as Dhawan had done. “Agent Barton? I can see here you have several extensive and rather serious lacerations. Dr Banner’s drug has prevented serious bleeding, but it’s only a temporary solution. I’m going to need to clean and stitch your injuries closed. Are you following me so far?”

Clint didn’t open his eyes, but he nodded again. Tony offered his hand again, and for a second it looked like Clint was going to take it, until his hand locked around Tony’s wrist instead, and Tony couldn’t stop the short gasp that slipped past his lips.

Tony knew the intention. It was the need for touch but also for control; to have something to hold onto without someone holding onto him in turn. It didn’t lessen that fact that Clint could snap his wrist in two, severely injured or not. 

Still, Clint seemed calmer now Dhawan and the frantic nurse were gone, and if this was what he needed as an anchor, Tony would provide.

“I imagine you’re in a lot of pain right now” Hara continued, and Tony clenched his teeth as Clint’s hold on him tightened. “I can do something about that, but only if you or a medical proxy give me permission, ok?”

“No drugs.”

“This is not a procedure I can perform without anesthetic, Agent Barton. Do you understand that?” 

Clint’s hand became a vice so tight that Tony couldn’t help the hiss of air that escaped his teeth. The grip loosened instantly as Clint said, in the same tone of voice as before, “Tony.”

Tony’s brow furrowed. Clint had never done this before, and it didn’t seem like a question or a request. It was just his name.

“What about the anesthetic are you resisting?” Hara prompted. “We can keep you conscious if that would make you more comfortable, although I would prefer not to. I’m happy to run you through any and all side effects of the different options we have on hand. We’re not going to do anything to your body that you don’t fully understand, ok?”  
  
“No drugs,” came Clint’s reply. Then, “Tony.”

“I don't know that is,” Tony told Hara. “I haven’t seen him get caught in a loop like this before. I’m not sure what it means.”

“That’s ok,” Hara assured him. “Agent Barton? I’m going to take Tony to one side for a moment, alright? Are you ok if Fahd looks after you for a moment?”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Tony said quickly, even as Clint shook his head. “Whatever you need to say, let him hear it.”

Hara took it in stride. “To be blunt; he needs the stitches. I cannot give him the stitches without at least some form of anesthetic. But I can’t give him said anesthetic without the permission from him or a medical proxy. Do you understand the position that puts us in?”

_Yeah, a pretty shitty one._ “I’d rather not make the call for him,” Tony said.

“You misunderstand me. His medical proxies are listed as Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers. This decision is not yours to make.”

Tony tried to hide the flash of hurt that roiled in his gut, even as he reasoned it through. Clint’s partner and his team leader. That made sense. There was no reason for Tony to be on that list, even if he had been through this shit show more times than he cared to count. “So you need me to convince him?”

“If you can. Or perhaps Captain Rogers -”

“No.” Clint curled himself up even tighter, taking Tony’s wrist with him, almost pulling him off the chair. Tony agreed. Steve was the last resort. Tony didn’t bother to ask about Natasha. If she could have been there, she would have been.

“Agent Barton, if your listed medical proxy decides that you require medication - which you do - I am obliged to administer it. But I would much rather do that with your permission.”

“Tony.”

“Tony is not listed as a medical proxy. He cannot make that decision.”

”Tony.” There was a note of panic to the last word, but still Tony didn’t feel like his name was aimed at him. 

“Stop,” Tony said. He glanced behind them at where the nurse had already prepared the anesthetic, ready to go. “Just give us a bit of space. Please?”

Hara considered it. “Five minutes,” they decided. “Then I must really insist you call Captain Rogers.” Their tone was kind but firm, and Tony nodded. Call Steve so he could give Hara permission to do the procedure anyway, and while he was sure they would be gentler and more sympathetic than Dhawan, it was going to trigger whatever number of traumas this whole mess had re-activated in Clint in the first place.

“Alright.” Tony slid closer to the bed, tugging the chair with him. “Clint? This operation needs to happen.”

“No drugs.”

“Let me clarify. This operation needs to happen, and the lovely doctor is not going to fill you full of stitches sober. I’m in pain just looking at you. Don’t you want that to stop?” Tony was sure he did, but also knew that Clint would rather feel every inch of the pain than lose an ounce of control.

Clint’s eyes were still closed, tears beginning to slip from underneath them onto the pillow. Not for the first time, Tony cursed that both Clint and Natasha were so damn good at what they did. Because as useful as two super-spies were in the field, Clint could and _would_ turn on the crocodile tears if he thought it would get him his way, and Tony was never completely certain when the archer was being genuine or if the tears were just to tug at Tony’s heartstrings to make him comply.

“It’s happening,” Tony decided, even as Clint moaned in protest. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t options.” He shot a meaningful look to the nurse, who inclined his head to indicate he was listening. “We can give you the mildest stuff we can, or we can give you the stuff that knocks you on your ass so hard you won’t even remember any of this happened. Which one are you leaning towards?”

His hand was going numb from how hard Clint was gripping his wrist. “Tony.”

“That’s not an answer.”

The tears were continuing to fall, Clint’s body a steel rod from tension. _“Please.”_

Well, Tony no longer needed that “Proof that Tony Stark has a Heart” plaque because he could feel that single word pierce straight into it. “Neither is that.”

Clint’s eyes shot open, glaring at him as the tears halted as quickly as they had started. “Bastard. Motherfucking bastard.”

Hara tapped their watch and, god, Tony really didn’t want to drag Steve down here, didn’t want to see the betrayal in Clint’s eyes as their team leader held him down. Because Steve would do it, Tony was sure of it, muscling his way to what he thought was right as he always did, even if Clint hated it for him later.

“Nurse,” Tony asked. “What’s the mildest you can go?”

He didn’t listen to the answer, already shaking back the sleeve of his scrub, turning back to Clint. “Sure. I’m a bastard. And so are you, Barton, dammit. You know who _isn’t_ though? Bruce.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed, unsure, trying to decipher Tony’s train of thought.

“And you know who orders and checks all the drugs who come through here? Bruce does.” That wasn’t true, not by a long shot, but Bruce had been keeping himself busy by helping out in the med bay - enough that a disorientated Clint might just believe it. “And I know you and me have had our differences lately but you still trust Bruce, right? I know I do. Watch.”

He held his arm to the disbelieving nurse. “Mr Stark, I really can’t condone -”

Tony cut him off, still talking to Clint. “I’ll go first, ok? You’ll see it’s fine. Nothing’s going to happen except all thatpain going away.”

Hara stepped forward and, when they spoke, their tone was kind. “Tony, we can’t do that.”

“I pay for whatever happy juice you’re about to give me, not to mention for the entire hospital wing we’re having this delightful conversation in. I think I can do whatever the hell I want.”

Hara didn’t rise to the bait. “You have a long history with substance abuse and an addictive personality. Can you understand why I cannot morally give you painkillers without due cause?”

“What about this isn’t due cause? We’re having a big discussion about consent, right? Well, this is me giving you my consent. Hit me.”

“No.” The whole room’s attention went to Clint. “Tony.”

“That’s my name, and you’re really wearing it out.”

Something seemed to click behind Clint’s eyes because, with great effort, he looked over to Hara, acknowledging them fully for the first time. “What do they do? The drugs?”

Hara didn’t break stride, returning to the bed, resuming the non-threatening position of sitting on the stool. “They will significantly reduce feeling on the side of your body that I need to clean, stitch and bandage. This will last for approximately twelve hours and then, with your consent or the consent of a medical proxy, I will give you another dose to help with the pain. After that I will prescribe some painkillers in an oral form for pain management while you heal.”

“Side effects?”

“Possible side effects include dry mouth, loss of appetite, constipation, and, in very rare cases, mild nausea.”

“Not drowsiness?

“No drowsiness. What I’m about to give you actually a drug of my own invention. It was designed for field medics to operate on or treat soldiers who still needed to keep their wits about them in active war zones. It’s passed all human trials and has been in use for the past eight months, to great success. Does that sound ok to you, Agent Barton?”

Pepper Potts would always be the greatest human Tony had ever known, but Dr Ali Hara was giving his C.E.O. a damn good run for her money. “What do you say?” Hara pressed. “Your care has been delayed long enough and I would like to get started as soon as possible. Do I have your consent to use anesthetics in order to treat your injuries?”

Clint considered as the room held its breath. “Don’t use.”

Tony was about to tear his hair out in frustration, when Clint slipped his grip on Tony’s wrist to his hand. Clint could still break several of his fingers in half a breath, but the gesture felt far less threatening.

“Don’t use.” It took a second for Tony to realize that the words were aimed at him, and another to cotton on to what Clint meant. 

“Ok,” he agreed. “I won’t use them. But you need to, ok?”  
  
Then, finally, Clint nodded, and it was a harder won victory than the alien monsters that had put them here in the first place.

The room breathed a collected sigh of relief, even as Hara and Fahd hid it far better behind a veil of professionalism. Tony was far too exhausted to hide anything, and slumped back in the chair as far as he could with Clint using his hand as an anchor.

Tony knew Clint wanted to ask the question, but wouldn’t, so he did. “Can I stay with him?”

Hara looked like they were about to launch into a logical argument about why that wasn’t a good idea, so Tony cut them off before they could. “I know you want me out the way, but your job is going to be a whole lot easier if I’m here. Even if it violates about a dozen medical practices you have in place for very good reasons.”

Hara considered, then gave in. “Ok, you can stay. Just this once.”

Fahd approached, a needle in hand. “Agent Barton? I’m going to inject you now. I’m going to walk you through everything I’m doing, every step of the way. Nothing is going to happen before I tell you first. And for Tony’s safety, I think it would be best if you let go of his hand.”

When Clint hesitated, Tony offered a different solution. “Hold on. Fahd, you’re about to see something very cool.” Indeed, Fahd’s eyes did light up, just a little, as Tony’s watch spiraled out into an Iron Man gauntlet which he offered to Clint instead. “Here. No way you’re breaking anything inside of that.”

It was a relief to Tony as well, to finally have his arm away from the spy’s deadly grip, potential nasty incident avoided. His eye was still throbbing something terrible, but it could wait. 

“Maybe something to bite down on as well?” Fahd offered, noting Clint’s split lip, ripped apart by his own teeth. “Your choice,” he added quickly as Clint went rigid. “It shouldn’t hurt that much with the anesthetic, but it can still be an unpleasant experience. But only if you’re comfortable with it.”

“Not a mouthguard,” Tony said quickly as Clint’s breathing accelerated. “Maybe something he can spit out, if he needs to?” He squeezed Clint’s hand, gentle behind the glove. “Does that sound ok, Clint? It’s optional, but I think we’d both prefer it if you didn’t chew your lip off.”

“Here.” Hara, having listened to the exchange, returned with a rolled-up towel, which Clint accepted between his teeth. “Does that feel ok, Agent Barton? You can get it out if you need to?”

Clint tested rolling it back and forth with his tongue, then gave them a flurried gesture that made Tony laugh in disbelief. “He’s telling you to hurry up,” he translated. “Yeah, we’ve been waiting on _you_ , birdbrain. You ready to do this?”

Clint nodded, suddenly eager to have the whole thing behind him. Tony could relate. Clint’s hand clung to the glove as Fahd carefully approached him with the needle. Clint screwed his eyes up as it was injected, breathing picking up, but at last he slumped back in the bed, his grip on Tony going soft, and letting the doctor get to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kicked my ass until a lovely comment from the wonderful Fluencca ignited the missing piece in my frustrated writer's brain. If you like Clint & Tony based Civil War Fix-Its I cannot recommend [Insane Mistakes Everybody Makes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21971923/chapters/52429675) highly enough.
> 
> As always, I'm not so much interested in who was right when it comes to CA:CW or the Accords, but why characters think they're right. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience, thank you for reading, thank you for being you. You're an important piece of the world, and you're doing a great job of making it a little brighter.

Tony ended up giving Hara a raise and a promotion.

It was a testament to how quickly Clint had taken to them that the archer was not only perfectly behaved throughout the entire procedure but also allowed them to give him a dose of something stronger when it was safe to do so, knocking him out completely.

Natasha had arrived soon after, a swath of bandages around her stomach, and had marshaled Tony out the door so she could take his place at Clint’s bedside. Tony didn’t argue. The second Clint was unconscious, he took himself off to a one-hour shower to scrub away the stink of alien guts and hospital and then collapsed into bed.

He woke a hours later feeling as exhausted as he had before sleep, still reaching automatically for Pepper before he was fully conscious. He wondered if that was a habit he’d ever be able to break.

He asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. for status updates on the team, to be told they were all fine. Natasha and Clint had gotten the worst of it, but it was nothing that wouldn’t heal with proper medical treatment.

“Speaking of proper medical treatment,” Tony yawned. His head was throbbing as he stumbled to the kitchen for coffee, burning his tongue in his haste to get the caffeine into his system. “Get all the paperwork ready to fire Nurse Ratched.”

There was no response.

“Fri? Come on, don’t tell me you’re malfunctioning or something, because I really don’t have time to -”

_“Dr Dhawan has requested all footage of Agent Barton’s procedure. And Assistant Secretary Harding has requested a meeting with you this afternoon.”_

“Yeah, I doubt either of those were ‘requests’.” Tony rubbed his eyes, still crusted over from sleep, and found one of them almost swollen shut. Right. That’s why his head hurt. He glanced down at his wrist and saw the dark, hand-shaped bruise that had formed there. “But sure, why not, let’s pretend we all still have choices. Send that footage to my lawyers too, might as well get on top of it.”

He was pretty sure Dhawan didn’t have a toe to stand on, let alone a leg, if she was going to try and keep her job. Because there was no way someone like that was going to set foot in the Compound again, Accords-approved or not.

_“Would you like to view the footage yourself?”_

Tony hesitated. He just wanted to be done with the whole incident and pretend it hadn’t happened, even though his bruised wrist and throbbing eye weren’t going to let that happen any time soon. “Yeah, better see what I’m getting into.”

The footage started with Clint on a hospital bed, clearly nervous as the nurse fussed around him, Dhawan buried in his file. So she had read it. She just hadn’t cared.

The next few minutes made Tony want to peak  through his fingers like he was watching a horror movie. Clint had gone from nervous to wary to full-on hostile in the space of a few minutes, although Tony hardly blamed him. Dhawan had called in the security guards at the first sign of supposed disobedience, which was Clint demanding to know exactly what medication they intended to put him on. The two huge men had then rushed in and restrained Clint to the bed, the archer putting up a decent fight despite the extensive injuries.

That still wasn’t the worst part. Once Clint was barely able to move, Dhawan had made her way over to the bed and reached for cuffs. Clint had gone still, confused, as she unbuckled them. “That’s what you get for betraying this country,” she had announced, before redoing both cuffs as tight as they could possibly go.

Tony was out of the room before the video had even stopped playing, almost running back down to the medical bay. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.? We’re re-vetting every employee that works in either med bay or security. Screw it; every employee in the Compound. This time, don’t just check for competency and security clearance - make sure we know if they have biases about the Accords as well.”

Which they probably did, if they had been appointed by the Accords Committee in the first place. 

_“Should I run this by Miss Potts?_  
  
Tony bit his lip as he rounded the corner into the med bay. “Yes,” he decided. “Tell her that I know she’s swamped as it is, but this can’t wait.” He wasn’t letting something like this happen again.

He paused outside Room 101, tugging down the sleeves of his shirt to hide his bruised wrist and whipping on a pair of yellow-tinted sunglasses. He hadn’t had a chance to look at himself in the mirror since he rolled out of bed, but he was sure that eye wasn’t winning him any beauty pageants.

When he entered, it was no longer Natasha sitting by Clint’s side, but Barnes. 

They both froze, in an odd reversal of what their positions had been last time. Clint was still asleep, but Barnes was deep in conversation with Dr Hara, only having broken off when he saw Tony.

“I’ll come back,” Tony announced as Barnes stood and said, “I’ll leave.”

Dr Hara took the situation in stride. “I’ll come visit you later to complete this talk, if that suits you, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Not a Sergeant,” Barnes said in a low voice, not moving. It took Tony a moment to remember that he was still blocking the door.

He took a step inside, but walking straight towards Barnes felt like nothing short of suicide, resulting in another awkward stalemate.

Hara rescued them. “Please wash your hands if you’re coming near my patient.”

Tony would have kissed them if it wouldn’t have warranted a very expensive sexual harassment claim. He circled around the edge of the room toward the sink, and Barnes used the movement as cover to head out the door while keeping well out of Tony’s way.

When Tony’s hands were spotless, and his heart rate had calmed somewhat, he took the chair Barnes had vacated, looking over Clint’s sleeping form. “How’s he doing?”

“A lot better,” Hara assured him. “And yourself?”

“What about me?”

Hara wasn’t buying it. “How about I give you something for that eye?”

Tony shifted, shooting them his winning smile. It didn’t do anything to make them back off so he sighed and removed the sunglasses, letting them apply a balm that took away some of the sting.

“You did well yesterday,” Hara told him, indicating Clint. “He was lucky you were around.”

“Not so much lucky as this Compound is watched over by a very protective A.I.”

“And who built that A.I. in the first place?”

Tony tried to shrug it off, but Hara didn’t let him. “No, you’re going to hear everything I’m going say to you, and you’re going to accept it. I’ve been forced to work with Dhawan a few times, and it’s never pleasant. She has, let’s say, _ways_ about how she treats certain patients.”

Tony grimaced. “I know. I reviewed the footage - I heard what she said. You won’t have to work with her again.”

Hara raised an eyebrow. “If you’re intending on firing her, you might find that a lot harder than you think. The committee who appointed us was….rigorous.”

Just what he needed _._ “She’s not stepping another foot in this building.”

Hara didn’t fight him on it. “As a safeguard against future incidents, I’ll become Agent Barton’s regular doctor. Even if I’m not on shift, I don’t live too far away. If it’s urgent, you or F.R.I.D.A.Y. can call me, and I’ll come straight here.”

“That’s…very kind of you.”

“I care about my patients,” Hara stated. “We take this job to provide care, not cause more pain. Doesn’t matter who is on the table or what politics they believe in.”

“Thank you,” Tony said, meaning it. “I don’t what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.” He glanced down at Clint’s bruised wrists, chaffed in all shades of red and purple.

“It’s my job. Now, the other thing we need to discuss.”

“Sure. I’m listening.” They had earned that much.

“I need you to understand that how we operated yesterday is not something I can allow again. You came near my patient, who had open wounds, without being properly sterilized - not to mention that I don’t allow visitors when I need space to work. Yesterday was a one-off because I could see it was the only way to move forward. Do you understand?”

“You got it, Doc.”

“Good.” Hara smiled at him, pushing the tub of balm into his hands. “Apply twice a day, the swelling should go down in no time.”

Tony took it. “Thanks. Again.”

“You’re very welcome.” They gestured to Clint. “Are you ok to stay with him while I finish my conversation with Mr Barnes?”

A part of Tony was itching to know what that was about, but the part of him that never wanted to think about Barnes again won out. “Sure.”

“Thank you.” They checked Clint over one more time before they rose to leave. “I know you might think otherwise, but you really did do well. I read his file in more detail; he’s been through a lot. I’m not surprised restraints and drugs have become traumatic triggers. He’s fortunate to have friends like you around.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony muttered. “We’re not exactly friends right now.”

Hara leaned over and pulled back Tony’s sleeve, revealing the hand-shaped bruise on his arm. “Are you sure about that? Because I don’t risk having my wrist broken by people I don’t care about.”

Then they left the room, leaving Tony alone with the sleeping Clint.

***

“I don’t know how many more times I can say it.”

Tony had been in this white, boring, windowless room for what felt like days. His only saving grace was that Dhawan hadn’t attended this meeting. That would come later, and would feature a whole lot of lawyers and red tape and bullshit that Tony didn’t have time for, but would have to make time for, because he knew nobody else could or would do it.

No, this meeting was with one Assistant Secretary Michael Harding, who had been pushing the same point at Tony for the last two hours. “Every staff member in this Compound was carefully selected and vetted by the Accords Committee. As per the Accords, we decide who gets to work with the Avengers and how _._ Dr Dhawan was selected. You cannot dismiss her.”

“And yet I pay her salary.”

“You chose to become the Avengers’ beneficiary after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Harding pressed. “That was your decision, as was signing the Accords and agreeing to be overseen by this committee. You cannot fire staff we have appointed.”

“Ok, then _you_ fire her.”

Harding blinked with those oddly white eyes. “Dr Dhawan is one of the top in her field. Her track record is impeccable.”

Tony bit back on the anger that felt like it was going to burst out of him at the next word out of Harding’s mouth. “Does that track record include patient abuse? Or has that all been conveniently wiped from her files?”

“Mr Stark -”

“How long do you think she would have left Barton tied up like that if F.R.I.D.A.Y. hadn’t been watching? A member of the Avengers who uses his hands for nearly every skill he uses? He’s our goddamn sniper, for fuck’s sake!”

“Language,” Harding scolded him, and Tony snorted. “Something funny, Mr Stark?”

Tony pushed his glasses up his nose, looking around the meeting room. “Yeah, this whole thing is hilarious. Insisting to keep someone like that working _anywhere_ , not just here, is the best joke I’ve heard all year.”

Harding didn’t rise to the bait. He never rose to the bait. At least Tony could manage to get Ross snorting at him like a raging bull. “Dr Dhawan feared for her and her colleagues’ safety. And with Agent Barton’s record of violence and unpredictable behavior -”

“And what about his history of captivity and abuse, or are we picking and choosing what parts of his record matter?”

Harding ignored him. “Dr Dhawan took what she deemed, in her medical opinion, the necessary safety precautions for her and her colleagues.”

Tony leaned forward, trying as hard as he could to not clench his hands into fists. “He wouldn’t have been ‘dangerous’” he put air quotes around the word “if she had read his file and followed its instructions.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“He was perfectly fine under Hara, ask them.”

“Then why are you wearing sunglasses indoors, if not to cover up an injury that Agent Barton gave you while in Dhawan’s medical care, after you removed the restraints she recommended?”

Tony took it in stride. “I’m an eccentric billionaire, I can do what I want. And because looking at you gives me snow blindness.”

Harding stared slightly off to the left of Tony. It was an annoying habit he had of never looking quite at a person. “No, Mr Stark, you cannot do what you want. That was the intention behind the Accords you vouched for.”

“I remember, thanks. I also remember signing them because I believed that we needed to be put in check, that we couldn’t just go wreaking havoc and upping our casualty rate everywhere we thought a bad guy might be lurking That there should be consequences when mistakes are made.”

Not that he thought Dhawan’s actions could be classified as mistakes, so much as they were definitely and maliciously intended, but the argument sounded good. At least to him. 

Harding didn’t buy it. “The Committee sees no reason to fire Dr Dhawan. Our decision is final. Consider this a warning; next time you interfere with a professional the Committee has instated, there will be more severe consequences.”

Tony wasn’t going to let it go that easily. He was halfway standing, about to knock some sense into this weirdly white and washed out fine print of a man.

He didn’t get the chance. Just as Harding was rising to pack up, Tony heard the most beautiful sound in the world as the click of Pepper Potts’s heels approached.

The woman herself appeared a moment later, impeccable and flawless as usual, although Tony caught the slightly thicker than usual application of makeup under her eyes. “Assistant Secretary Harding.” She nodded to Tony, “Mr Stark.”

“Miss Potts.”

Pepper gave Harding her best “I’m going to be polite but you’re going to do what I say” smile. “May I have a moment of your time?”

Harding snapped his briefcase shut. “I have another meeting to attend, I’m sure you understand.”

“I do,” Pepper agreed, not moving out of the doorframe. Tony knew that trick - he’d had it used on him multiple times. It never failed. God help the man who tried to move Pepper Potts before she wanted to be moved. “I’m a busy woman, Assistant Secretary. I’ll make this quick for both for us.”

She stepped into the room in order to hand him a file, but not out of Harding’s path. Harding took it, something like an emotion crossing his face when he saw what was inside. “Interesting.”

Tony tried to catch Pepper’s eye, questioning, but she was zeroed in on Harding. “I thought it might make a fitting compromise. For the Committee, Dr Dhawan, and the Avengers medical staff.”

Harding turned a page. “This is…lucrative.”

If it had been anyone else in the room, Tony would have demanded an explanation then and there, but Pepper Potts was one of the few people (maybe the only person) in the world that Tony trusted enough to hold his tongue for at least five seconds.

Harding was nodding. “I will show this to Dr Dhawan for her input. Although I can’t see her turning down an offer this generous. Mr Stark. Miss Potts.”

Satisfied, Pepper stepped aside. The movement was graceful, but the undertone of “You’re only leaving because I’m allowing it” was clear. Harding took it in stride, leaving Tony and Pepper alone in the room.

Tony spoke first. “You bought her off?”

Pepper gently closed the door, clicking into the middle of the room and leaning against the table. They were in the same room almost daily - they had to be with co-running SI and the amount of Avengers press Pepper still insisted on taking on board - but they were hardly ever alone. And Tony had felt a lot of things about Pepper Potts over the years, but he had never wanted awkwardness to be one of them.

_Of course it’s awkward. She’s your ex._

_We’re taking a break._

_It’s been nearly a year. She’s your ex._

Pepper reached into her designer handbag ( _not_ the one Tony had bought her Christmas, he noted), and pulled out a second copy. “I knew you’d want to take a look.”

Tony frowned when he got to the first page. “A job offer? Pep, hon-“ He cut the word off midway. “This woman shouldn’t just be working in our hospital; she shouldn’t be working in _any_ hospital, ever.”

Pepper’s expression didn’t change. “Keep reading.”

Tony turned the page, and sighed. “A research position.” And Harding had been right, that was lucrative. “Well, I hope she likes Switzerland.”

“And it’s not us who is going to be paying her. We’re just sending along a very flattering recommendation. The position offers no opportunity for human trials of any sort.”

Tony skimmed the rest of the file before slamming it shut. “She deserves to have her medical license revoked and her career ended. Not a six-figure salary and weekends in the Alps.”

“I know,” Pepper said quietly. “I saw the footage.”

She closed the rest of the space between them, reaching for his glasses. It took all of Tony’s will not to lean away when she reached forward and tugged them off his face, revealing the black eye. “He didn’t mean to.”

Pepper hummed, cupping his cheek to better see the bruise, and Tony couldn’t help but lean into the touch. It was the closest they had been in months. He could smell her vanilla and peach perfume.

That one he had bought for her.

“Still hurts though.” It wasn’t a question.

Tony shrugged it off. “Hara gave me a balm thing for it.”

“Have you seen him yet?”

“Not conscious. I thought I’d wait for this,” Tony gestured to his eye. “To fade a bit. You know he’s going to beat himself up for it, no matter what I say.”  
  
“Hm. Sounds familiar.”

They stood like for a beat or two longer, Tony pulling away first. “Do you need anything else, Miss Potts?”

“No, that will be all, Mr Stark.” Pepper smiled as she gathered her bag and headed for the door. “Tony? Talk to him.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Pepper paused in the doorway. “We’re due a conversation as well.”

“I know. Not…not today. If that’s ok.”

Pepper hesitated, but relented. “It’s ok. To be continued, though.”

“To be continued.”

***

It was another three days until Tony got the chance to see Clint again, giving him space for the slew of other visitors coming to his bedside, and time for the black eye to dull from purple to an off-yellow. The balm was another of Hara’s creations, and it was working miracles.

Clint’s sharp eyes went straight to the eye anyway, expression immediately turning to one of guilt. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony cut him off before he could say anything. He hung awkwardly in the doorway, waiting for an invite.

“Dude, it’s your hospital, just come in.”

“You are far too old to be calling anyone _dude_.” Tony perched in the visitor’s chair. Someone smaller than him, probably Natasha, must have the been the last visitor, because it was pushed uncomfortably close to the bed. Tony shoved it a couple of inches away. “I’m surprised you haven’t made a break for it yet. I half-expected to have to drag you from the vents and force your stubborn ass to stay in bed until you mend.”

“I thought about it.” Clint shrugged, eyes half on the darts game was that was playing, muted, on the hospital TV. “But Nat said if I didn’t stay the full five days that she’d wait until I was sleeping and then shave my head. I told her there was no way she could creep up on me even in my sleep.”

“She’d hold you down shave it anyway.”  
  
“That’s what she said.” Clint considered. “I reckon I could probably pull it off, if I wanted to.”

“Nah. You’d look like a turkey egg.”

“Like you’d do any better.” A gleam came into Clint’s eyes and for a moment, it was straight back to the old days, when they’d ride out their post-mission hospital stints together. “You’d look like a melted down version of Vin Diesel.”

“Hey! I definitely have better facial structure than Dom Toretto.”

“Gotta be honest, man. Don’t shave your head.”

“I almost want to do it to spite you now.” Tony settled back in the chair. “How are you feeling?”

The mood immediately shifted, even as Clint tried to stay casual. “Like I got sliced and diced by some weird alien monster thing.”

“Fair enough.”

An awkward silence hung between them. Clint broke it. “I’m sorry.”

“I said not to worry about it.”

Clint’s guilty demeanor didn’t change. “Are you in trouble?” Like they were schoolboys who had pissed off the headmaster. Harding’s colorless face swam to the front of Tony’s memories. The analogy wasn’t far off.

Tony shrugged. “My legal team has gotten me out of worse. Much, much worse.” 

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, it’s weird and unsettling.”

“I hurt you.”  
  
Tony gestured to his face. “I get worse from sparring with Happy. It’s fine.”

Before Tony saw it coming, Clint whipped out a hand and ripped back Tony’s sleeve, eyes going wide at the huge bruise that hadn’t healed nearly as well as the one over his eye had.

Tony snatched his arm back. “Jesus, Barton, personal space - ever heard of it?”

“Tony…”

“Oh so it’s Tony now, is it? Not Stark?” The words slipped out before he could stop them. “Forget it. Not the time or place.” His eyes looked for somewhere else to settle, and found the TV. “I had no idea darts was a professional sport. What, is that your backup plan if the farm life gets boring?”

Clint was still watching him, not rising to the playful banter anymore, like he usually would. Or usually would before they had been on very different sides of a certain airport fight. “What happened to that doctor? Is she -”

“Fired. Very, very fired. She won’t get near you or anyone else here again.”

Clint didn’t relax. “She was appointed by the Accords people, wasn’t she?”

“I’m vetting everyone a second time,” Tony said quickly. “Making sure there’s no one else…like that.”

“And the Committee are just letting you do that, are they?”

Even Tony could forget how sharp Clint could be when he wanted to be - had to be, considering his profession. It was probably how he always was, really, behind all the carefully constructed carefree, country boy energy. It was the biggest difference Tony saw between Clint and Natasha. Because even through all his years of friendship with Natasha, even when he had seen her eating ice-cream from the scoop in fuzzy socks at 3 am, he could never quite forget that the Black Widow was in the room with him. Clint was the opposite. Clint made it easy to forget. And that was dangerous in itself.

“We reached a compromise,” Tony landed on.

Clint sighed. “Of course you did.”

“I didn’t exactly have much of a choice.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

Another awkward silence.

“I like Hara,” Clint said finally.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“They told me what you did.” Clint twisted on the pillows so he facing Tony fully. “Thank you.”

The sincerity of the word took Tony aback. “Of course. We’re a team. I wasn’t about to just turn my back on you.” He said the words without thinking about them, but once it was out there, they fell between them like a lodestone. Tony sighed. “Damn. Are we finally having _that_ talk?”

“I guess we probably should.”

They both waited for the other to speak.

Clint gave up first. “I’m not sorry, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“You just spent five minutes apologizing when I told you not to, and now you’re not going to say it?”

“Were you expecting me to?”

_Maybe. Yes._ “Were you expecting _me_ to?”

“To me? No. I don’t give a shit.”

“If you’re holding out for me to go apologize to Rogers then -”

“Jesus, Stark, not everything is about you two. Although not saying the atmosphere around here wouldn't be improved if you two finally kissed and made up.”

“Then -”

“Seriously?” Clint fixed him with a look. “Wanda.”

_“What?”_

“If she was still here, like she should be -”

“Oh, come on.”

“- then I would drag you over to apologize to her myself.”

Tony snorted. “Here like she _should_ be? Are you for real right now? I was the one who advocated for her to stay here, in case you conveniently forgot that part of the Tony Stark as Villain narrative. Here with her own room and her friends and her…Vision. Remind me, Barton - who was the one who pulled her away from all that and landed her in the Raft?”

Clint’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare blame the Raft on any of us. That was -”

“Yeah, me, whatever.”

“That was Ross. Who you sided with. Knowing what kind of man he was.”  
  
Tony didn’t back off. “He was the Secretary of State representing the UN. We don’t get to pick and choose which laws we feel like following. Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s what makes the bad guys _bad guys.”_

Clint wasn’t having it. “You made her feel like a criminal. For an _accident._ ”

“An accident that killed twenty-six innocent bystanders.”

“And you think she took that lightly?”

“I don’t know, she seemed perfectly ok with filling our heads with visions that made us -” He cut off halfway. He hadn’t told anybody about what Wanda had shown him in Strucker’s lab, and he wasn't going to start now. “Not that you’d know. You managed to skip that whole part of our little sequel.”

Clint didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, mind control must be awful. I couldn’t imagine.”

_Shit._ “Sorry,” Tony muttered, after a horrible pause. “That was dumb.”

Clint shook his head. “It is. Awful. The mind control.” 

Tony went very still. He’d never heard Clint talk about Loki, ever, even after they’d become proper friends some time between New York and chasing down Hydra.

“People keep saying it’s not your fault,” Clint continued. “That it wasn’t you. But it _was_ you. You remember doing it. Every single moment of it. Everyone who died by your hands. They stay with you.”

Something clicked in Tony’s mind. “Is that why you’ve been spending time with…”

“Bucky? He has a name.”

_Yeah. The Winter Soldier. I remember._

“Partly. And also, you know. Bringing brainwashed Russian assassins into our ranks is kind of my specialty.”

Tony shifted. “I guess.”

Clint fixed him with a look. “You teamed up with Natasha, knowing her past. You teamed up with me after the Helicarrier. After Phil.”

“Phil wasn’t your fault.”

Clint ignored that. “You invited us to live with you. We were friends.”

Tony didn’t miss the past tense. “That was different."

“Why, because the people we killed weren’t people you knew? I’m sure they had sons and daughters and -”

Nope. Tony wasn’t doing this. He stood. "Hara probably told you already, but they've signed onto the masochistic task of being your regular doctor.”

“Tony -”

“And I’m revetting everyone, Accords or not, so it shouldn’t happen again.” Tony was halfway to the door when he heard the unmistakable clatter of a certain archer trying to get out of bed, and failing. He turned back to see Clint half-sprawled on the floor, teeth clenched in pain. “Goddamnit, Barton.”

Tony sent one more longing look at the hospital door and escape before sighing and making his way back in. Clint was already halfway to his feet, but Tony looped his arm around his waist anyway, helping him the rest of the way and checking that the fall hadn’t torn any stitches. “What happened to Natasha shaving your head if you left the bed?”

Clint winced as he adjusted himself. “We're not done.”

Tony eyed him, suspicious. “Did you just throw yourself out of bed and risk opening several serious injuries to stop me from leaving the room?”

“I would never.”

“Uh-huh. Try it again and I’m getting Romanoff.”

Clint made a move as though he was going to take Tony’s wrist but then, just as quickly, yanked his hand away. “I wasn’t finished.”

“What, lecturing me about I should be nicer to my parents’ -” Tony broke off, swallowing hard. “I let him live here, don’t I?”

“You agreed to that for Bruce.”

“Yeah, well. The big guy deserved a break.” Tony realized that his sleeve was still pushed up, bruises on full display. He went to adjust it subtly, remembered who he was talking to, and then yanked it the rest of the way down with pretext. “Can I ask a question?”

Clint went from offensive to defensive, eyeing him warily. “You can ask.”  
  
“Back when you were, um…back when Hara was trying to stitch you up.” Tony fought the urge to rub his wrist. “You kept saying my name.”

Clint went very still.

“I don’t know if you remember but -”

“I remember.”

Tony hesitated, waiting to see if Clint would answer the implied question. He didn’t. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t -”

“No, I will. I just…” The guilt was back. Tony was beginning to get whiplash. “I was reminding myself it was you.”

“Who else did you think it was?”

Clint didn’t answer. “I was reminding myself it was you so I wouldn’t…” Clint’s eyes found Tony’s wrist. 

Oh. _Oh._ Damn, Tony hadn’t realized they had been so close to _that_ outcome. “It’s fine,” he said quickly. “You didn’t. I’m in one piece.”

“I told you to take off the restraints, and then I nearly -”

“But you _didn’t_ ,” Tony insisted. “Hey, Clint. Look at me. _Look_ at me.”

It took a few seconds for Clint to do so, still looking miserable.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Tony repeated. “ _You_ were fine, before Dhawan pulled those restraints out. I saw the footage. She set you off, but we salvaged it, ok? Happy endings, and all.”

“Yeah, I doubt that.” Clint threw an arm over his face. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that stuff.”

“It has long been established the choices are between me and our red-haired comrade by process of elimination. And you could have put me in the hospital room next to you at any time and you _didn’t._ So stop beating yourself up, because a buggy alien already did that job.”

Slowly, Clint removed the arm from his eyes, staring at the ceiling.“How much trouble are you really in with the Committee?”

“None,” Tony assured him. “Pepper saved me.”

“But you would have been.”

Tony frowned, looking for the unasked question behind the words, and not finding it. “I guess? I wasn’t really thinking about that at the time.”

Clint nodded, the question he’d been searching for answered. “Ok. Good to know.”

“I would have done it anyway,” Tony said quietly, glancing at the deep bruises still marking both of Clint’s wrists, a mirror to his own. “Even if it meant a more…unfavorable outcome. You know that, right?”

Clint hesitated. “I wasn’t sure."

Ok, if that wasn’t a punch in the gut. Tony tried to hide the flash of hurt that crossed his features, but Clint’s codename wasn’t Hawkeye for nothing.

“It’s just the way you think,” Clint clarified. “Big picture. Whole world, whole universe. The details get lost sometimes. Must be exhausting.”

_You have no idea._ “Someone has to think that way.”

Clint nodded, unsurprised. “Look, I’m not great at…this stuff. I don’t do big speeches or heartfelt talks. They tell me where to shoot, and I shoot. And I’m fine with that. But I can read people. And I’ve always known that you’re a big picture kind of guy. The futurist who thinks he can save us all.”

Tony tried and failed not to flinch at the echo of Clint’s words from the Raft.

“It’s not that I don’t get it. I do. But also, I’ve been part of other people’s big pictures for a really long time. Carson’s, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s, the Avengers’. And that’s been…it is what it is.” Clint shifted so he was sitting more upright. “You’ve always been one of the painters of that big picture. I haven’t. I know what it’s like to be a foot soldier in the people-up-top’s wars. How easy it is to think about numbers and outcomes and best-case scenarios and forget about the actual people in the trenches.”

“I've been in the trenches,” Tony argued. “With you, with all of you -”

“That's not what I’m saying.” Clint exhaled, frustrated. “I said I wasn’t good at this. Let me just…” He cast about for words. “Ok, let me ask you this.”

“Ok,” Tony agreed, wary.  
  
“If Peter had been in Lagos -”

Tony’s defensive armor sprung into place - the one he had had long before Iron Man. “Where are you going with this?”

“Let me finish. If Peter had been in Lagos and he’d caused that accident, and the reaction had been to lock him away until other people decided he was safe to be around again, would you have just sat back and taken that?”

“That would have been different."

“Why?” Clint challenged him. “Actually, don’t answer. We both know. You would have fought tooth and nail for him. You never would have let him be treated like a criminal.”

“I wouldn't have broken him out of a safe place, and gone on the run and made him an _actual_ criminal.”

Clint took that in stride. “No, you wouldn’t of. But you wouldn’t have sat by and let what happened to Wanda happen to him.”

“I was going to get her reinstated,” Tony insisted. “Once things had settled down a bit -”

“And when would that have been? A few months? Years? And what do you think would have been going through Wanda’s head all that time she wasn’t allowed to leave the first place she’d been able to call a home since her parents were taken away from her?”  


The aim of the last shot hit as true as any of Clint’s arrows. “I didn’t -”

“I’m not saying you killed them,” Clint said. “No one thinks you did, not even Wanda - not anymore. Even if your name was on that weapon that did it. Look.” Clint took a breath. “I haven’t…I’m surprised I’m still here, if I’m being honest. Every day I’m more surprised. See, I never thought I’d live past twenty. Between Carson’s and S.H.I.E.LD. and…and what happened in between, I’ve always accepted that I wasn’t going to have a long life, or even a particularly happy one. So I don’t think big picture; I’ve never had that luxury. Or that burden, whatever way you want to think about it. I just see the damage that could be done in the moment. Wanda was in trouble; I helped her. Steve said Hydra was building more super-soldiers; I helped him.”

“Super-soldiers that no one decided to tell me about,” Tony interjected.

“Yeah,” Clint admitted. “Sam and Steve should have told you, I’m not arguing with that. But even though you say Wanda would have be reinstated later, that the Accords were the best thing to keep us together…the damage in the moment was too high a price.”

“It wouldn’t have been as high as the damage down the line.”

“Maybe,” Clint admitted, and Tony was almost more frustrated than if Clint had chosen to argue. “But I think when everyone is only thinking about the endgame, when the ends always justify the means…I’ve been on the harsh end of those means a few too many times, alright? I’ve never been one of the generals striving for the victory; I’ve been the soldier they throw in the disposable first wave. Which…is fine, I guess, if that’s my lot in life there’s not much I can do to change it. Trust me, I’ve tried. And I’m glad not everyone’s like that; it’s good we have people like you to think ahead. Like S.H.I.E.L.D. had Fury.”

He met Tony’s eyes for that last one. Tony had clashed with Fury more than once, and nearly always over the way he treated the half of the Avengers that were under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s command. They’d fight nearly any time Steve, Clint or Natasha returned from a mission with a new injury to add to the ever-growing list, even as Fury had insisted that the mission was needed, and necessary, and worth the risk. Big picture.

He had probably been right. Tony had argued with him anyway.

“And when you’re a foot soldier in other people’s wars,” Clint finished. “You’re not looking for the long-term victory. You’re just looking out for your fellow soldiers’ backs.”

“I can’t just do what I think is right in the moment,” Tony pressed. “I have to think long term. You get that, right? I _need_ to, or we’re all screwed.”

“You stood up to Dhawan. That could have done some serious damage, right?”

“It didn’t.”

“But it could have. And you did it anyway. You didn’t leave me alone with her.”

Tony glared at him. “You’re using my good deed against me in an argument. That’s low, Barton.”

“Hm, but I’m winning and it’s fun.”

“Who says you’re winning?” 

Clint reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, downing it in two.

“You want a refill?”

Clint shook his head.

“Ok.” Tony leaned back in his chair. “I’m not saying I agree with you, you know.”

“I didn’t expect you to. You see things I never will, which is not something I can say to a lot of people. But when you’re always looking ahead, sometimes it’s hard to see what’s right in front of you, I guess.”

“Like a team?” Tony countered. “The one I was trying to hold together?”

Clint shrugged. “If we ended, we ended. I always figured we would, at some point.”

“Good to hear you had faith in us.”

“I didn’t want us to. But I’m used to good stuff not lasting. S.H.I.E.L.D. was Hydra, Carson’s was…I’m just used to finding a couple of people that actually give a damn and having their backs, and trusting them to have mine. That’s all there is for me. So I had Wanda’s back. And I wouldn’t change my decision if I could, and I’m not sorry.”

“I’m not sorry either.”  
  
“Fine.” 

“Sure. Fine.” They both paused, the silence not as uncomfortable as it was before. “So,” Tony said finally. “Are we ok?”

Clint’s hand twitched, as though resisting the urge to reach out, so Tony did instead, taking Clint’s wrist below the bruising. Clint almost pulled away, then stopped himself. “Yeah, Tony. We’re ok.”

A small part of the ever-present knot in Tony’s stomach loosened. Just a little.

“While we’re talking,” Clint continued. “You should talk to Peter. Harley as well.”

Tony swallowed, not wanting to start another argument. “How is Harley?”

“He fits in well. Like he was born to be on a farm, although he spends a fair bit of time with all that stuff you gave him in the barn. We turned it into a workshop for him.”

“You gave him your barn?”

Clint shrugged. “Yeah. None of us really like going in there lately, except Harley. Not sure why.” Clint shifted, patting Tony’s hand with his. “He doesn’t need fancy toys. He needs _you._ So does Peter.”

“They need to be _safe._ I’m -”

“Protecting them in the long run, yeah. Sure. But that’s not stopping the damage that’s being done right now. Don’t always think big picture, remember? Sometimes it’s ok to just focus on what’s in front of you. Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

***

Tony insisted on revetting all the Compound staff anyway. Screw the Committee. He couldn’t fire any of them, but several employees with more Accords-leaning attitudes suddenly found themselves generous offers in other positions across the country.

_“Boss? Dr Hara is asking to see you, if you’re free.”_

Tony stopped mid-coffee pour, downing the half cup in one as he grabbed his jacket. “Who’s hurt?”

_“No one. They say it’s only paperwork.”_

“Oh.” Tony relaxed, about to ask Hara to send it along to him digitally before he caught himself. He was in the communal kitchen one over from the med bay anyway, and he figured after all Hara had done, he could at least pay them the courtesy of an in-person visit. 

_Pay them the courtesy,_ he repeated as he made his way towards Hara’s office. He could count on one hand the number of people he bothered to ‘pay courtesy’ to. Maybe he should do it more. Win him points in Pepper’s good books.

He remembered the touch of her hand on his cheek, the scents of vanilla and peach. _To be continued._

He knocked on Hara’s door and was rewarded with a “Come in, it’s open.”

Tony stepped into the small office, eyes catching on the number of doctorates and awards cramming the walls. Hara was behind their desk, smiling behind their half-rim glasses over a sheaf of documents. “Tony. How’s the eye?”

“Can hardly feel it.” Tony looked around the small space. “You know that promotion comes with a bigger office.”

“I don’t need it,” Hara responded. “I’m barely here, anyway; most of my time is with patients. More space seems wasteful.” They gestured to the chair in front of them. “Would you like a seat?”

“Sure.” Tony perched in the chair. “How can I help?”

Hara placed the documents down on the desk, swiveling around so they were facing Tony. “I have made some adjustments to Agent Barton’s medical file at his request. I need you to sign off on it.”  
  
“Me? Why?”

Tony was spared an answer when Hara pushed the form towards him, and he scanned his eyes down it.

_Medical proxies for Agent Clint Barton: Steve Rogers. Natasha Romanoff. Tony Stark._

“I’m not sure -”

“He insisted on it.” Hara held out a pen. “He said he needs someone around who has his back.”

The knot in Tony’s stomach clenched. It still hadn’t gone away, not after the conversation with Clint, not after the promise to talk to Pepper, not after getting Harley and Peter out of harm’s way. But for the first time in a while, he felt maybe, just maybe, it could.

Tony took the pen, and signed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you spotted the Hamilton reference. 
> 
> You can find my other Tony & Clint fic [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24801190/chapters/59980183)
> 
> The Whumptoberverse will continue in [Safe Space](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27394654)

**Author's Note:**

> As always my answer to any and all medical inaccuracies is BECAUSE COMIC BOOK SCIENCE.
> 
> Come scream at me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jinxquickfoot), especially if you also write fanfic or do fanart! Share your work with me!
> 
> Hey are you tired of me plugging my podcast yet? Well I’m going to do it anyway. I appreciate your patience.
> 
> "Kill the Cat" is a film and screenwriting podcast which my co-host and I take our favorite films and screenplays and break down why and how they work. Why not start with our episode on Avengers: Infinity War? If that sounds up your ally, pop over to [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ypaen3yM5Q&t=1s&ab_channel=KilltheCatPodcast), [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/show/5hCprc9UCBZP4srFrBXKT1?si=0CF3IKjGThK0tohIqcEy4Q) or wherever you get your podcasts and hit that 'subscribe' button. It would make my day exactly 98.2% brighter.
> 
> And hey. Smile. But only if you feel like it. I’m not here to tell you what to do.


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